


Stubborn Love

by Eligh



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Daemons, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eligh/pseuds/Eligh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short connected ficlets examining Jim and Spock's developing relationship, from right after Nero to a few years in their future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stubborn Love

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a muuuuuuch longer fic, but after nearly a year of languishing in my WIP folder, I edited it together a bit and here you have it. Spring cleaning and whatnot.
> 
> Title from that Lumineers song, 'cause I'm terrible at titling things and I can't get the damn thing out of my head.

Jim didn’t think about it until later—not until that first night when they were back on Earth, back in the disquietingly empty dorms. And granted, they’d been a _little_ distracted, what with Vulcan blowing up and Delta Vega and Nero and—and yea. But you know, with most people, it was hard not to at least _notice_ their dæmon. But they hadn’t seen Spock’s. Either of the Spocks, old or current.

“Maybe she’s an insect,” he mused, stretched out on his bed as Calliope restlessly stalked back and forth in their small dorm room. Bones was still absent, detained by his superiors in the medlabs, so they didn’t have any sort of distraction for the time being. Jim shifted uncomfortably and Cal growled under her breath.  

“We have more important things to be worrying about than Spock’s dæmon,” she muttered. “We don’t even like him.”

Jim smiled tightly, then reached out and caught onto her as she grumped past him again, dragging her toward him and digging his fingers into her thick, spotty fur. “He’s still interesting,” he countered as Cal wriggled in an attempt to get away. She’d never been particularly touchy, not even when they were little. But Jim held on, and after a moment she stilled, recognizing his need to be close.

“Vulcans have dæmons,” she said, answering Jim’s unspoken thought. “We know that. It’s just rumor that they don’t. You can’t live without one.”

Jim latched on tighter and Cal purred softly, flicking her black-tipped ears. “I know,” Jim said after a minute. “Just—I can’t imagine being alone through all this. And he… I just wonder where she is.” Cal purred again and Jim leaned back, inviting. She very nearly rolled her eyes, but after a moment, climbed on his chest and settled all twenty pounds of her lanky bobcat frame over his heart. Jim relaxed, calmer now that she was so close, and they both quickly dropped off.

But their sleep wasn’t easy. Jim dreamed of the drill, of falling, and this time Chekhov hadn’t caught them. Instead, Vulcan had opened under them, sucking them down into the singularity and Jim had screamed, because dying in a black hole of nothingness was worse than dying by hitting the ground at a hundred miles an hour, because the blackness was ripping Cal away, he couldn’t reach her and it hurt, it hurt—

Jim woke panting and flailing, but strong arms pulled him toward a broad chest and he shook, clinging tightly as Bones shushed him and patted his hair. “Y’all right,” he said softly. “All right, Jim, it’s just a nightmare, and god knows they’ll happen after what ya went through…”

Slowly, Jim refocused, resting his head against Bones’ chest for a moment before reaching out and dragging Cal toward him, away from where Bones’ Hestia was whispering something into one of her slightly quivering ears. Bones let go to give them some space and Hestia slid over, first pressing against his leg and then climbing up on the bed to settle her warm, solid body against his side.

“I dreamed I got sucked into the singularity on Vulcan,” Jim said, and watched as Bones stroked the white stripe on Hestia’s badger head—a gesture Jim had come to know meant that Bones was thinking.

“Well—”

“Why’d we live, do you think?” Jim asked, interrupting. “Us and Spock, I mean, on the Narada. It was suicide. We knew it, he knew it, we shouldn’t have—” he stopped speaking suddenly and glared down; Calliope had bitten his hand.

Bones sighed. “You’re lucky, Jimmy. That’s all. A million things coulda gone wrong, and none of ‘em did.” He looked down at Cal and twitched his face into a smile. “Thank god. I don’t think I coulda gotten over the guilt.”

“I would’ve figured out a way to get on a ship anyway,” Jim said dismissively, waving a hand. “If anything, you saved me by getting me on the _Enterprise_. I was planning on heading for the _Farragut_.”

With a snort, Bones leaned back against the wall next to Jim’s narrow bed and crossed his arms. “Well, good thing I’ve had practice breaking regulations, then. My meeting was to ask if I’d stay on as CMO, and I figure I’ll have to deal with a good deal of mutinous behavior if I’ve got you as my captain.”

“Bones!” Jim exclaimed, the lingering unpleasantness from his dream evaporating. “That’s awesome, congratulations!” He leaned forward and enveloped his friend in a tight hug. “I don’t think you’ll have to deal with me, though,” he said, pulling back and holding Bones at arm’s length. “There’s no way they’re going to give her to me. Nah, you’ll probably be Spock’s CMO, you lucky bastard, you.” His eyes flashed in humor, and Bones glared at him.

“God forbid I have to answer to that uptight hobgoblin,” he muttered.

“I don’t know,” Jim countered. “He could grow on you.”

~~

Across campus, Spock closed the door of his rooms behind Nyota, forcing himself not to linger and watch her back retreating down the hallway. She was upset, obviously, but a relationship between them was neither logical nor appropriate. Besides, he would be reuniting with the remaining members of his race in an effort to help with rebuilding. No, a long-distance relationship with a human (his subordinate in Starfleet, as well) was simply illogical.

From behind him there was a familiar rustle in the air duct—Terrek was returning. Spock turned and crouched down, feeling his muscles relax when his dæmon, a valit from the deserts of Vulcan (that-was), scampered up his arm. “Where have you been?” he asked, only mildly dismayed at how needful the words came out.

“In the student dorms,” Terrek answered readily. “Jim is upset. He was having nightmares.”

Spock’s mouth twitched down. Terrek had not been bound to him since they were seven and they engaged in the _khas-wan_. All vulcans separated their dæmons from themselves during this trial, so the fact that Terrek spent long hours away from his presence was nothing new. This obsession with Kirk however, was.

“You should not call him Jim,” Spock said mildly. “It is inappropriate.” He traced his hand down Terrek’s corkscrew tail and sat on their bed.

“He wants us to call him that,” Terrek argued. “And he was worrying about you, too. He wondered about how he had not seen me. The thought of you, alone, upsets him.”

Spock closed his eyes in exasperation. Terrek was often frustratingly human, despite the controls Spock strode to impose upon them. They fought frequently, something their mother had said was a sign of his warring mixed heritage. He took a deep breath and changed the subject.

“I have broken off our relationship with Nyota.”

Terrek made a soft noise and jumped lightly onto Spock’s shoulder. “That is why you are upset.” He paused. “But your decision was the logical one.”

“I know.” Spock unconsciously raised his hand and stroked Terrek’s side in a familiar gesture. “Please remain with me tomorrow. We need to make arrangements to return to Vul—to rejoin the colonists.” Terrek said nothing, just rested his head against Spock’s cheek.

~~

Weeks later, Spock closed his eyes for the duration of the turbolift ride to the bridge, letting the feel of the artificial gravity and the distinct smell of ‘starship’ wash over him. Terrek wove his lithe body around Spock’s wrist, burrowing deeper into the sleeve of his starched blue uniform.

“He will not reject us,” Terrek whispered, and Spock cocked his head. He was still… of two minds about this decision. But the confrontation of duality he had so recently engaged in with his older self had swayed the balance, so when the doors to the bridge opened, he stepped off without a trace of hesitation and offered Kirk his references.

And when Kirk grinned at him, Spock felt, for the first time, that this choice was the correct one.

~~

“Hey, Spock,” Jim called, catching up with the retreating back of his first officer after a week of working together as the _Enterprise_ ’s command team (and wasn’t that still just awesome; he was endlessly pleased with Spock’s decision to stay in Starfleet). “You got a minute?”

Spock paused, tilting his head in a manner that was almost inviting. His eyes flicked down to Cal (who was weaving around Jim’s legs, betraying the captain’s nerves) for a moment, cataloging, then back up to Jim. “I was about to retire for lunch,” he said slowly, and Jim had opened his mouth with an awkward ‘oh, another time, then’ on his lips when Spock added, “I would… your company would not be…” He paused and appeared to collect himself. “Please join me.” 

Jim grinned. “Awesome. I wanted to go over some ship’s business stuff with you, would you mind if we made it a working lunch?”

“It would indeed be a most productive use of our time,” Spock conceded, and turned to walk again. “Perhaps if we intend to discuss ship’s business, we should choose a locale that is more conducive to conversation.” Meaning, of course, the mess is a wreck this time of day, and we won’t be able to hear each other talk. Jim grinned.

“Yea,” he agreed, falling into step next to Spock. “Your quarters or mine?” Jim barely stopped himself from inserting a practiced leer into his voice, but it was a close thing—Spock was pretty enough for Jim’s Automatic Flirt to kick in, but they were still slightly awkward around each other, and Jim didn’t need to contribute to that. A different Spock’s prediction of an enduring friendship resonated in Jim’s memory, and he wasn’t about to fuck that up because of something as ridiculous as those high cheekbones and tight ass and…

Jim shook his head, forcing his mind back on track. Spock didn’t seem to notice the slight stutter in conversation, or if he did, he ignored it. “The location of our repast makes no difference,” Spock said, though now that they were in the hallway that housed the officer’s quarters, he led the way to his own, rather than Jim’s. He keyed in his code and gestured Jim in, following behind. “Computer, lower ambient temperature by ten degrees,” he ordered quietly before turning to Jim. “Please replicate something. I will return momentarily.”

Jim watched as he disappeared into his bathroom and then wandered to the wall and scanned through the replicator, picking a salad in deference to Spock’s vegetarian ways. Calliope paced restlessly, inspecting the decorations (which seemed to be mostly of the weapon-ish variety) and sniffing along the partition that separated Spock’s bed from the rest of the room. Jim shot her a flash of annoyance, though, so she ambled back over and curled up underneath his chair.

Spock re-emerged and ordered himself lunch—a salad, as well—before sitting down opposite Jim, at which point Jim launched them into a detailed discussion of working out rotations for crew shifts and a fair method of allowing away team preferences.

They’d been talking for perhaps half an hour of their allotted hour lunch when Spock suddenly stiffened and shifted his shoulder uncomfortably. Jim then watched as Spock reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out a sort of weasel-looking thing, which he hissed something at in vulcan that Jim couldn’t decipher before dropping it unceremoniously on the ground by their feet. Jim blinked.

“Your dæmon,” Jim said stupidly, and then almost actually face-palmed. Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim went on with his traitorous mouth, “I just, I hadn’t seen—I thought—”

“I am aware of the myth that vulcans do no exhibit dæmons,” Spock said dryly. “It is, of course, entirely false. We can, however, distance ourselves much further than humans are able.” He glanced under the table at where Cal was busy eying the weasel-thing and let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “Yours appears to be in the form of a Terran _Lynx rufus_?”

“Yea,” Jim breathed, because this was a little surreal. You didn’t really talk about your dæmons, not unless you were close to someone, and of course you didn’t _touch_ —“Her name’s Calliope.”

“Terrek is a valit,” Spock said simply, and as if in cue, the weasel-thing _(Terrek, valit)_ popped up over the edge of the table, watching Jim with interested, black eyes. “He is…” Spock trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.

Jim processed the ‘he,’ and threaded his fingers in Cal’s ruff under the table. And now that Jim got a better look, it was clear that the resemblance to a weasel was a bit off. The thin, long body was there, yes, but the front paws were wide, with sharp, glinting claws. Terrek’s fur was mottled blacks and browns and reds, probably something that would blend in well in the desert. His thin tail was a tightly-wound corkscrew, and his hind legs were powerful, clearly meant for digging. He had a rounded black snout and long, rabbit-like ears that he had folded down his back. Jim had never seen a valit before, but he could immediately see that this creature belonged in the deserts of Vulcan.

“Valit,” Jim echoed vaguely. “Cool.”

Spock inclined his head for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Rosters…” he prodded gently, and Jim snapped back on target.

“Right, so we’ll have to come up with a system of rotation for shore leave…”

~~

“Okay,” Jim instructed with a wide grin. “The goal is to gather groups of cards—three or more. The groups are either sequential, like three, four, five… of the same suit, mind, or the same value, like three sevens.”

Spock looked unimpressed. “I fail to see the intellectual—”

“There _is_ no intellectual reason,” Jim interrupted, (Spock’s eyebrow twitched; he didn’t like being interrupted, but Jim found that his reaction was more than worth it) already dealing the cards. “It’s all about the shit-talk.”

“The… shit-talk,” Spock enunciated the words perfectly, and at Jim’s feet, Calliope rumbled with silent laughter. Next to them, Bones had no such compunction about remaining quiet, and burst out laughing.

“Christ,” he wheezed, “that was damn near perfect, Mister Spock.”

Jim smiled at his friends, warmth curling loose in his chest (that may have also been the vodka, but Jim wasn’t questioning it). Bones was still giggling, face-flat on the table—and yea, they’d played Texas Hold ‘Em, then Blackjack, (Spock counted the cards, the giant cheater) then Go Fish, and were now progressing onto Rummy, so they’d had ample time this evening to get a little sloshed.

Spock was affecting his usual cool, but all that vulcan demeanor was betrayed by Terrek, who was rolling and play-fighting on the floor with Hestia, likely defending Spock’s honor. Spock glanced over at them, the slightest curl of one corner of his lips giving him away—you’d never know how much he enjoyed these nights unless you watched Terrek interact with the other dæmons—before looking back at Jim. That curl increased near-imperceptibly, and Jim grinned in response.

“All right Mister Spock, you ready to get your ass handed to you?”

Spock quirked an eyebrow. “I was unaware you were in possession of it.”

Bones, barely having regained his composure, dissolved into laughter again.

~~

Spock found Jim and Cal on Observation Deck delta—one of the lesser used decks, yet still the first place Spock looked when they disappeared. Jim was leaning against one of the support beams, staring off at the retreating stars; delta deck was positioned at the back of the ship, directly between the nacelles.

“Jim,” Spock said, soft so as not to startle the captain, and Jim looked around, seemingly coming out of a daze.

He smiled when he saw who was approaching him. “Oh, hey, Spock.” Spock halted next to him, watching his captain for a moment before he turned to look out the window as well.

“I was… attempting to ascertain…” Spock said carefully after several minutes of comfortable silence.

“I’ve had almost thirty years to get used to my birthday being a shitty day, Spock,” Jim said, turning to him. “Honestly, I don’t even know why my mom bothers trying to contact me today—it always ends like that.” He grimaced. “We really do get along, you know. Just not—not today.”

Spock inclined his head. “It is utterly illogical that certain anniversaries hold such painful significance,” he murmured, and Jim looked at him, surprised. But Spock wasn’t finished. “They are signifiers of another step further away from the… the grief… yet…” He looked confused, and Jim straightened up, reached out.

And when his hand landed on Spock’s shoulder, Spock didn’t raise an eyebrow or flinch or move away—none of those things he’d done on previous occasions when Jim had touched him. Instead, he looked at Jim and smiled, that slight expression that was more about a softening of eyes than anything else.

“I regret that this day cannot be a more joyous occasion for you.” Jim squeezed his shoulder, and Spock looked down. “I feel the urge to provide solace.”

“Thanks, Spock,” Jim sighed, and dropped his hand (because he didn’t want to push it). “You being here—it’s good.” He opened his mouth to say more, but they both suddenly started, because—

At their feet, Terrek had appeared from seemingly nowhere (the ninja) and had wound himself around Cal’s powerful shoulders. He nipped her ear gently and she purred, settling into a ball. Terrek trilled softly (Jim marveled; he’d never heard him make a noise before) and nosed into her fur, his clever paws running over her ears and down her back, grooming.

Jim and Spock glanced at one another, (Jim blushed faintly, and unless he was entirely mistaken, there was a slight olive tint to Spock’s cheeks as well) then turned as one to gaze again at the stars.

~~

Jim was pacing his quarters, tugging at his hair, swearing under his breath. Cal watched him, practically quivering with nervous energy, but didn’t follow after him—Jim was too wound up to take solace in her soft fur.

“We shoulda done something, Cal, and now we have no idea where he is, they could be—” Jim cut himself off, slamming his fists onto the surface of his desk. He closed his eyes. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“Perhaps,” a voice that was decidedly not Cal said, and Jim jumped about a mile, looking around his quarters wildly, finally settling on a small figure, crouched and quivering near a ventilation shaft.

“Holy fuck, _Terrek_?” Jim breathed, staring, because really what the _fuck_ , Spock had said they could be distant from one another, but Spock was on the fucking _planet_ and they were in _orbit_ and how the fuck was this even a thing.

“Jim,” Terrek said (and yea, talk about surreal, Jim’s sitting in his quarters talking to his first officer’s fucking _soul_ while said first officer is probably being tortured on planet) and fixed Jim with a severe, penetrating gaze. “I can lead you to him.”

Cal was suddenly wound around Jim’s legs, purring and upset. “He’s hurting,” she said, and yea, Terrek was visibly shaking. Jim sank to his knees and regarded Spock’s dæmon. Of course they’d been ordered away, because regulations and diplomacy apparently trumped the continued existence of Jim’s people.

But one look at Terrek, at his wide eyes and trembling ears, had Jim’s mind firmly decided (if he was entirely honest, he would have disobeyed orders anyway, but Terrek tipped the balance to this happening _right now_ ) and he was on his feet and fumbling for his comm.

“Take us,” he said, his voice cold flint—because you don’t torture Jim Kirk’s men, and you definitely don’t torture _Spock._ Cal was gone from his side in an instant, nosing into Terrek’s mottled fur, speaking to him in soft, quiet words that Jim couldn’t make out. Her gestures were too intimate for dealing with vulcans but Jim didn’t even care—(nevermind the fact that all the little things he and Spock did—the touches, the looks—were too intimate for vulcans) he was already striding from the room, communicator in hand, ordering security to meet him in the transporter room.

He was vaguely aware that Cal had convinced Terrek to clamber to her shoulders (Jim didn’t spare a thought at the moment for the warm feeling that spread, knowing she was touching Terrek—he’d entertain that later) and was following, his steady shadow.

Bones was waiting for them in the transporter room, his face set. “We’re gettin’ him?” he asked, and when Jim gave a sharp nod, a couple lines on Bones’ face smoothed out. “Good,” he breathed, (Hestia’s hackles were already raised, her teeth bared and ready) and then security was there and they were beaming down.

The next few hours were a blur. They were outnumbered, (it seemed like they were _always_ outnumbered) but somehow it didn’t matter—perhaps fighting with fury helped, and Jim was eventually standing over the prone body of his first officer, deep in a mountain cavern.

“Spock,” Jim whispered, leaning over him and watching the erratic rise and fall of his chest. He reached out, touching, running bruised and bleeding fingers over Spock’s face, down his neck. “We’ve got you, just hold on.” There was a small scuffle at his feet, and he looked down—Cal was holding a now-unconscious Terrek gently in her powerful jaws, and Jim didn’t even think twice about reaching down and plucking him from her mouth.

He felt the jolt—he could count on one hand how many times he’d touched someone’s dæmon—but it barely registered before he was tucking Terrek against Spock’s skin, nestled against the skin of his throat. Even in unconsciousness, Terrek wrapped his thin body around Spock’s neck, and the vulcan curled slightly, protective of his dæmon’s warmth.

Bones skidded to a stop at the entrance of the cavern (Jim had his phaser raised, and only narrowly avoided shooting him—Bones didn’t seem to notice) and tore in, swearing up a storm. He and Hestia were both limping, but when Jim and Cal expressed worry, they brushed them off, instead concentrating on Spock.

After an endless moment of whirring tricorder readings, Bones nodded. “He’ll be alright, but let’s get the hell out of here, yesterday.” Cal bounced up, placing her wide paws on the narrow cot, and picked Terrek up in her mouth with enough gentleness that Bones raised an eyebrow.

“Somethin’ you wanna tell me, Jim?” he muttered as he and Jim slid their arms under Spock’s shoulders (Spock struggled weakly for a moment before Jim pressed a hand to his cheek, thinking sentiments of _safe_ and _friends_ and _rescue_ as loud as he could). Jim glanced at Bones over Spock’s head and they had a moment of silent communication that made Jim really fucking happy that Bones was his best friend.

“Well aren’t you the happy couple,” Bones grumbled. Jim smirked and drew his phaser.

~~

Spock inhaled the incense deeply, letting himself rise from the depths of his meditations. But as he roused himself, he became slowly aware of something foreign, something out of place—but deliciously so. He opened his eyes and looked directly at his desk.

Directly at Jim was sitting, chewing nervously on his lower lip. Spock regarded him silently, only tearing his gaze from Jim’s face after long moments and looking down to Jim’s lap, where Terrek sat, twining himself around and through Jim’s loose fingers.

Spock blinked, taking a moment to examine the pure ball of heat and want that had settled in his stomach, then reached out a still-healing hand and cupped Callipoe’s chin. She purred, a low rumble that made Spock’s breath catch, and when he looked up at Jim again, his friend and captain (and so much more, now) had his eyes closed in pleasure.

“Jim,” Spock breathed, and then Jim was sliding to his knees and crowding against Spock, practically knocking him over in the sudden tangle of limbs.

“God, I almost lost you,” Jim said into his mouth, but then Spock was swallowing any further words and letting Jim press him backward onto the floor of his quarters and shaking because it was so much after waiting for so long.

Jim pushed his meditation robes from his body without breaking their kiss, baring his chest to the air of his quarters. Spock simultaneously fumbled with the fastening of Jim’s slacks—they were both perfectly aware of where this was going, and Jim’s only response was to lift his hips slightly to give Spock easier access.

Jim started up a steady chant of Spock’s name as Spock shoved his trousers and briefs down and slid a one of his long-fingered hands to wrap around Jim’s hardness. “Ah, Jim,” Spock groaned. “I have desired you—”

“For so long, Spock, yes,” Jim said, now fighting with the drawstring on Spock’s pants, his movements made clumsy by Spock’s refusal to remove his hand. He finally gave up, just yanking his loose pants down and leaning forward, lining up and grinding their groins together.

Spock adjusted his grip to grasp them together, and Jim moaned into his mouth. “I love you, never leave me, Spock, please,” he whispered, and Spock felt electric heat along their sides as Terrek and Calliope rolled together next to them, brushing their fur along their bared skin and sending sharp shocks through both their systems.

“Never,” Spock promised, and brought his free hand to Jim’s face, silently begging entry. Jim gave it to him with a kiss, pressing his fingers over Spock’s on his face. Spock murmured the familiar invocation and sank into Jim’s mind, wrapped himself around him and Cal and Terrek were there together and joined and it was so—

Spock had never felt more alive.

Much later, after a hurried wash up and a more controlled removal of their hastily shoved-aside clothing, Jim and Spock curled around each other in Spock’s narrow bed, Cal and Terrek pressed to their chests between them. Jim traced a pale green scar across Spock’s side, and Terrek nuzzled into his neck. Spock closed his eyes—he doubted that Jim’s skin pressing against his dæmon would ever cease to be a thrill.

“This is against regulations,” Jim murmured sleepily, “but just so you know, I don’t really give a shit.”

“We may be put up for review,” Spock agreed.

Jim shrugged without opening his eyes and shuffled closer. “I’m already up for review because I went against orders to rescue you.”

Spock curled his lips up. “You should not have done that.”

“Fuck off,” Jim said, smiling wider. He opened his eyes now, those starry blue mesmerizing eyes, and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of Spock’s nose. “They’ll either punish us or they won’t, but they can’t separate us now, can they?”

“Indeed they cannot,” Spock said, and let an actual smile grow on his face (the shocked look on Jim’s face was more than use the slip of his emotional controls) as he sought out the warmth of their bond glowing comfortingly in the back of his mind. 

**Author's Note:**

> Terrek's form of a valit is mentioned super briefly over at Memory Alpha, in the fauna of Vulcan section. They describe valits as 'small, digging, highly intelligent rodents,' so the rest of the description is all me.


End file.
